


The Bad Luck Club

by caitthecursed



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: BDSM, Exhibitionism, F/M, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Post War, Post-Hogwarts, Threesome - F/M/M, Voyeurism, post graduate aimlessness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-06
Updated: 2013-09-06
Packaged: 2017-12-25 20:04:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/957078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caitthecursed/pseuds/caitthecursed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the aftermath of war, getting back to normal is the hardest part. Luckily, none of them are anywhere close to normal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Bad Luck Club

_September, 1998_

 

Seamus was chilled to the bone. He’d opened the window that morning and declared the day too warm for a jacket, then misjudged his apparition by nearly three miles. By the time he reached the Lovegoods’ door, he couldn’t tell whether he was shaking from nerves or hypothermia.

“Surprise! I would’ve brought flowers, but all the shops were closed and my transfiguration’s rubbish.”

Luna didn’t look surprised (any more than usual, at least). She just tackled him, dragging him half through the doorway.

“Oh. _Oh._ Seamus, you’ve no idea how happy I am to see you.” She looked up at him with watery grey eyes, her hands still clenched in the back of his shirt. “I’ve missed you so much. Please tell me you haven’t gotten a proper girlfriend. I mean, I want you to be happy, but it’ll be dreadful if we can’t have sex anymore.”

Seamus laughed. “Calm down, love. Not even through the door, and you’re already angling for a shag.”

He kissed the top of her head, then tilted her chin up and kissed her hard on the mouth. She tasted familiar, a little like coffee and cinnamon, and Seamus nearly groaned as he sunk his fingers into her hair. Whatever she was pinning it up with clattered to the floor, and silky blond curls fell over his wrists as he nudged her inside the door and shoved a thigh between her legs.

“Oh, dear.”

Seamus and Luna sprang apart. Fortunately, it wasn’t Mr. Lovegood who was frozen halfway down the stairs, an empty plate in each hand.

“Neville! Fancy seeing you here, mate!”

Neville didn’t move. “Luna was going to make sandwiches, but I can come back down later.”

Wearing an ill-fitting jumper and a nervous expression, he looked so much like his younger self that Seamus laughed again. “Nah, we’re giving the oven a bit of a show anyway.” He winked at Luna, who bit her lip. Seamus ignored his stubborn erection and stole a plate from Neville’s outstretched hand, gripping his broad shoulders in a one-armed hug. “Now, what’s this I hear about sandwiches?”

Within twenty minutes, they were crowded at the kitchen table. “So let me get this straight. Your gran is proud of you for beheading the dark lord’s giant serpent and saving the wizarding world, but angry that you’ve decided not to become an auror?”

“She’s angry that I’m not doing anything else. If I’d signed up for training at St. Mungo’s, or even gotten a job from George Weasley, she’d at least think I was headed somewhere. I think she’s just sick of tripping over my abandoned books.”

Seamus had never visited Neville, but having met his grandmother, he doubted it was the most welcoming place to live. Seamus felt a sudden pang of guilt.

“Well, I don’t know about you two, but that’s the best sandwich I’ve had in bloody ages. Now, where can a bloke find some tea?”

He stood up and began rummaging through the cupboards. They appeared to be organized by color rather than function, and after several minutes of rooting around, Luna ducked in front of him and reached for an old biscuit tin with what looked like the Cheshire cat on it.

“You can talk to us, you know,” she murmured as she spooned pungent tea leaves into a strainer. “Or we can talk later, when we’re alone. Your eyes are so sad, Seamus.”

He hugged her tightly around the waist, his face buried in her neck. “Thanks, love. I think I just need to fuck around right now.”

“In front of Neville?” She sounded startled. Seamus ruffled her hair, then turned the kettle on and returned to the table. Neville was chewing on his thumbnail, which Seamus hadn’t seen him do since fifth year. His hair and beard were a bit overgrown, and there were bags under his eyes. He looked like Seamus felt, which was a relief after being around Dean and his endlessly supportive, well-adjusted family.

“Hey, you.”

Neville smiled, just a little but enough to make Seamus breathe a bit easier. “Hey.” Luna reappeared with a giant blue teapot and three mismatched mugs. Seamus grabbed the one with the busty mermaid on the side.

“Seamus,” Luna said, slipping onto the bench next to him, “Molly’s invited us over for dinner tonight. You’re welcome to come if you’d like. When do you need to go home?”

Seamus blushed a little and laughed to cover it up. “You see, I’m sort of between homes at the moment. I figured I could wrangle a bed for a few nights if I offered certain favors in return.”

He kissed her ear, one hand sneaking over to squeeze her leg. Luna giggled and squirmed, while Neville became suddenly fascinated by the handle of his mug.

“You can stay as long as you like,” Luna said. “You don’t mind, Neville, do you?”

“No! No, of course not. It’s your house.”

Seamus grinned. “Aw, look at him blush. It’s just like old times. Remember when you walked in on me having a wank in the toilets?”

Neville went even darker red and mumbled something about getting scones for the tea. Luna whacked Seamus in the leg, which only made him laugh harder. The others joined in soon enough, howling with laughter until Luna’s father came downstairs to make sure they hadn’t injured themselves.

—

Mrs. Weasley dove on them the second they appeared in the door, smothering first Neville and then Seamus in a giant bear hug. She held onto Seamus longer, and Neville could hear some of the things she murmured to him—how she’d gone to school with his mum, how she wanted to come to Galway to visit the grave, how she had some old wedding photographs in the attic if he wanted to take a look at them. Seamus gave her a big, tearful smile, adding yet another wordless piece to the puzzle of his emotional state.

The Burrow was a madhouse, as usual, and it took all Neville’s concentration not to grin like an idiot through the entire meal. Watching Harry and Ron squabble over the gravy, while Seamus and Ginny argued about Quidditch and Mrs. Weasley tried not to look shocked at Luna’s rather liberal description of her relationship with Seamus, Neville felt more alive than he had in months. His suspicions about just needing space were confirmed, even if it added certain emotional complications.

Hermione seemed to pick up on his discomfort, and he hung back from the other two under the pretext of borrowing a book. Hermione waited until they were in Ron’s room to pull him into a hug.

“I’m quite worried, you know. You look like you’ve lost weight. Are you having trouble sleeping?”

“No. I’ve been sleeping fine, it’s just the being awake bit that gets to me.”

Hermione gave him the look of pity she usually saved for his house elf. “Could you talk to Luna about it? If there was a way to help, I’m sure she’d be happy to do it.”

The mere suggestion of such a conversation made his throat start to close up. “She’d have brought it up by now, don’t you think? ‘We can’t give Neville the green pillowcase, he’s madly in love with me.’ She has no idea.”

Hermione squeezed his shoulder. By the time he finally made it out the door, he had four huge history books and Seamus and Luna had nearly reached the house. Neville savored the walk, looking up at the rural sky he hadn’t seen since leaving Hogwarts. He’d never gotten great marks in Astronomy, but he could pick out a few constellations. Maybe he could spend his free time memorizing star charts instead of staring at the walls.

—

Silvery moonlight filtered through Luna’s bedroom window. It reflected on her pale skin, making it look as white as snow and almost as untouched. Seamus ran a careful finger along the hollow under her collarbone, and her sleepy whimper made him flush with both shame and desire.

She always did bruise easily.

Luna began stroking his hair. “Do you remember what you said the first time?”

Seamus was quiet. _I can’t be gentle right now,_ he’d told her in the Room of Requirement, his hands still shaking six hours after hearing the news. Neville had gotten a broken nose for the trouble, because he was the only one strong enough to hold Seamus down when he lashed out. Grief burned through Seamus like an inferno, and nothing helped except to scream and throw things and pray no one else came within punching range.

He was a loaded gun, and Luna had come to him with soft skin and tender eyes, putting her innocent body right in the path of the bullet.

 _I don’t want you to be gentle,_ she said, before licking Neville’s blood off his trembling fingers. _I want you to be here._

Seamus propped himself up on his elbow, looking down at her unreadably serene expression. “It was different during the war, but it’s over now. We’re supposed to be good to each other.”

Luna reached up to cradle the back of his neck. “You don’t think this is good?” She pulled him down for a kiss. His hands came down on either side of her head, fists clenching in the sheets. He felt hers fall beside them, pressing slightly against the inside of his wrists. Seamus looked down to find an impish smile on her face.

“Again, you randy minx?” He took hold of her hands and brought them to the headboard, wrapping her fingers around it.

“Be a good girl, now.”

She just watched him, her eyes glowing silver in the moonlight. He kissed the bruise on her throat, the curve of her breast, the flat plane of her stomach. She didn’t make any noise until his mouth was on her cunt, and then it was a soft little _oh,_ incongruous with the bruising grip he had on her thighs.

He could tease her, giving her slow, soft kitten licks until she was sobbing for it. But Neville was depressed and Lavender was dead and Seamus couldn’t speak to the only family he had left. He made Luna come hard and quick, and her sighs were like the first shoots of spring, returning life to the barren earth.

 

_October_

 

Dean rented a flat in Diagon Alley, a nice little place above Etheldred’s Teahouse that he kept neat with just enough artistic clutter to give it character. Seamus was on his doorstep within three days, jabbing at the doorbell like there was a dragon on his tail.

“Get in, you tosser. For Christ’s sake, did you swim here?”

“Been raining like hell, it has. I apparated to Croydon by mistake and had to take the bus.” He pushed past Dean and darted up the staircase. “You’re in the attic, right? Hope you’ve got food, because I could just about eat me own hand.”

“Of course, to swim here, you’d have to have set foot in Ireland sometime in the past six months.”

Seamus rolled his eyes. “Oh, shut it. You sound like my Nan.”

He pushed open the door, dropped his backpack by the window, and sank into a ratty armchair with a dramatic groan. “Fuck. Dean, do you ever take the Muggle bus? I think I broke my arse on those bloody plastic seats.”

Dean sank gingerly into another chair. “If you talk to me, I’ll buy you dinner at the Leaky Cauldron.”

“Ask the poor bloke I sat with on the bus. Talking’s the last thing I need help with.”

“I mean really talk, Seamus. I haven’t heard from you in a month, and I bet it’s been a lot longer for your dad.”

It took a lot more than that to make Dean truly angry, but Seamus winced all the same. “Fine, we’ll go braid our hair and giggle over cute boys.”

After half a chicken pie, the knot in his stomach had started to unwind. Dean just sat there, waiting for Seamus to find the words for things he barely dared to think.

“I wish she’d just get it over with and fuck Longbottom.”

Dean set down his pint. “Well, that’s new.”

“I mean, he’s all noble and shit. He looks at her like she’s Deirdre of the bloody Sorrows, and I’m barely fit for human company on me best days. Not to mention what happens on the worst ones.”

“How exactly do you think you look at her?”

“Yeah, but Luna’s made it perfectly clear what she wants from me, and it’s not some false white knight bullshit. I just wish she wanted someone who’d treat her right, is all.”

“So tell her. It’s not like you’re being particularly subtle.”

“But if I tell her, she’ll have no reason to stop putting up with my bullshit.” The worse option, that she would be genuinely touched but not return the sentiment, didn’t even bear thought.

“Have you ever thought that she puts up with your bullshit because she wants to? Jesus, you think too much. You need a hobby.”

Seamus looked up with a wicked smile. “You haven’t had a housewarming party yet.”

—

The party was on the first truly cold night of October. Neville ran into Hermione and Ginny outside the Leaky Cauldron. Ginny hugged him tightly around the middle, her hair smelling strongly of lilac.

“The boys went ahead to pick up some refreshments, but I convinced Hermione to let me doll her up. Doesn’t she look fabulous?”

“You do look nice,” Neville said. “Both of you.” Hermione had her hair piled up, and there was something sparkly around her eyes. She rolled them at the compliment, but he noticed her smile.

“How big is this party supposed to be, exactly?”

A crowd of young people were smoking outside the door, and Neville could hear the faint whine of a silencing charm coming from upstairs. When they’d pushed past the couples necking on the stairs and into Dean’s small flat, the throbbing electric buzz of Muggle music assaulted them like a tidal wave.

“Ladies! Lovely ladies, just what the party needed.” Seamus wedged himself between Hermione and Ginny, kissing them each on the cheek. “And one dashing gent, too,” he added, winking at Neville. “You have to paint yourself into those trousers?”

Neville blushed violently. “They’re Ron’s. I didn’t have any nice Muggle clothes.”

“I’m just teasing. You look good, mate.” Nodding along to the music, Seamus was clearly in his element. His hair was mussed beyond the abilities of the strongest hair potions—Neville suspected female hands were the culprit—and he was sweating in a way that managed to look more attractive than not.

Hermione and Ginny spotted the boys in the crowd, and Seamus ushered Neville back to the kitchen. “We’ve got all manner of beverages, both virgin and adult.” He winked again, and Neville wondered just how much he’d had to drink. He let Seamus pick out a good Muggle beer, and the cold, bitter liquid felt wonderful in the hot room.

“Got to go check on my girl,” Seamus shouted in his ear. “I want to see you dancing before the end of the night, you hear?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he shouted back, but Seamus was already gone. Neville leaned against the wall, content to watch the madness unfolding around him. Ginny was in the middle of the floor dancing circles around Harry, and another flash of orange over their heads revealed that George was tearing up the other side of the dance floor. Familiar faces kept appearing in the crowd, attached to gyrating bodies in very revealing clothing. Neville wouldn’t deny that it was an arousing sight, but it felt strange to witness such a loosening of inhibitions when he’d fought and bled and grieved with these people. Or perhaps in spite of it.

At half past one, Neville stumbled towards Seamus’s room, where they’d stashed the cloaks. He leaned against the doorway, trying to get his dizziness under control enough to knock, when the sound of voices traveled through the door.

“Oh, you knew they were all watching. Did you like it? Having all those eyes on you, wishing they could touch you like this?”

There was a gasp from inside; Luna was in there with Seamus. “I like it when you watch. I don’t notice anybody else.”

“How ‘bout I mark you, right here? So everybody can see it and know exactly who you belong to.”

Neville’s whole body went cold. “Please, Seamus,” Luna whispered, so quiet he could barely hear it. He’d never heard her sound so desperate, not even when he was patching up her injuries in the Room of Requirement.

Neville planted his feet, getting ready to raise his fist and break the door down if he had to, when Luna spoke again.

“Do it.”

There was no mistaking her tone of voice. Seamus chuckled, low and throaty, and Neville started banging on the door to keep his hands from shaking.

“Hello? Is anybody in there? I need to get my cloak.” Seamus pulled the door open, and his anger at being interrupted changed to surprise.

“Thought you’d left already.” His shirt was unbuttoned, and he was breathing hard. His sharp eyes met Neville’s, his mind clearly working behind them.

“Luna,” Seamus said, not breaking Neville’s gaze, “Go to the bed and get Neville’s cloak for him.”

There was a pause. Luna was out of Neville’s line of sight, but he could tell that Seamus was waiting for her reaction.

“Should I put my dress back on first?”

Neville couldn’t stop the shudder that ran through him at her soft voice. His eyes fluttered briefly shut, which made Seamus narrow his.

“Cover yourself, but don’t zip it up.”

Luna stepped out from the corner of the room. She was wearing a short black sleeveless dress. Even pinning it awkwardly over her chest, she looked more glamorous and beautiful than any of the other girls at the party.

She looked up at him and smiled. “Which cloak is yours, Neville?”

“The blue one.” If Seamus truly meant those things he said, wouldn’t he have punched Neville by now? And if Luna was being hurt, why did she seem so happy?

Luna pulled his cloak from the pile and handed it to him. “Thank you,” he stammered, unsure of what his role was supposed to be. She gave him one last glowing smile before Seamus swung the door shut, masking the sounds of their passion.

Neville stumbled out of the apartment and down the stairs, pulling his cloak tight around him. The cold air was a shock against his feverish skin, and he stood in the dark doorway of the teashop waiting for his breathing to calm down.

After a few minutes of leaning against the wall, the fresh air had sobered him up enough to apparate home. He snuck in through the kitchen door, crept up the stairs, and eased his bedroom door shut before shucking his cloak and collapsing on the bed.

Lying on his back in the dark, Neville couldn’t ignore the physical reactions he was having. Pulling the covers over himself, he wrapped a hand around his erection and tugged.

Neville had to bite down on his hand to avoid making noise. In the quiet dark of his bedroom, with pleasure scorching through his body like wildfire, Neville could let his mind go back to the desperation in Luna’s voice, the sweet obedience of her actions, the confidence in Seamus’s stare. Neville imagined them together, how her slim body would fit against his hardened one, how his rough hands would touch her breasts and her throat and her hair. He wondered if it was like this at Hogwarts, if they were hiding love bites under their uniforms and kissing in corridors where someone was sure to catch them. If Luna had done certain things not to satisfy her own strange logic, but because Seamus ordered her to.

Neville came hard, collapsing into breathless exhaustion. He managed a charm to clean up the mess, but the feeling of griminess remained. From the first night he caught Seamus sneaking back into the dormitory, he’d pledged to stay out of it. Now Seamus was dragging him back in, and Neville wasn’t clever enough to understand the game he was playing.

—

As the days got shorter and colder, and Dean still didn’t kick him out, Seamus took to walking along the bank of the Thames late at night. He’d grown up in a city on the sea, and the smell of the water mixed with all the refuse of human habitation calmed him in a way that few things could anymore.

His mother used to tell him stories about the old forests, and the magic to be found there for anyone who’d brave the dark. The woods had eyes and claws, she’d say, and you could either glimpse the heart of something old and powerful or have your throat torn out for your trouble.

Shivering alone in the shadows, with the wind tearing across the waves and the lights reflecting in the water like flickering flames, Seamus felt like he was trespassing on wild, dangerous magic. He leaned against the railing and fished in his pocket for a cigarette. Not most people’s idea of respectful, but he knew somehow that this was the city’s preferred offering: the smoke and the acrid smell, orange tip glowing in the dark as Seamus flirted with his own destruction.

He had always liked things that were bad for him—fast cars, fast girls, whiskey and public indecency and that little whimper everybody made when you pulled their hair a bit too hard.

It was bad for him because deep down, he liked any reaction almost as much as a good one. He wanted to hear the gasps, see the bruises, make the world shrink down to just his touch and his words. And while Seamus was decent enough to be ashamed of it, that didn’t stop him from thinking that some people would look awfully pretty gagging on his cock.

Luna was an anomaly, because she took every bit of manhandling he threw at her and didn’t give an inch. She was like the river, taking all his shit and washing it out to sea. He could growl and shove all he liked, but she would always flow where she wanted to.

If Luna was a river, Neville was a bloody great tree. Seamus took another deep drag, almost masking the funny tightening in his chest when he thought about being busted at the party. He’d always fancied being caught, but something about the look on Neville’s face had stuck with Seamus as he backed Luna against the wall and shoved inside her. Neville was so obviously turned on, and ashamed of being turned on, that Seamus had wanted to tie him down and make him watch, to twist those ironclad morals into something dirty and hungry and _real._ Something that made Seamus feel a little less alone.

Predatory thoughts aside, the bloke clearly needed to loosen up. In light of Luna’s recent comments, maybe his old fantasy wasn’t as fantastic as he thought. The wind whipped around him, and Seamus felt like the city was encouraging his misbehavior.

“Dirty bitch,” he muttered, grinning around his cigarette.

—

Rooting through his wardrobe on the afternoon of Halloween, Neville’s nerves were jangling horribly. In a fit of impulse, he chose a set of deep red dress robes that had belonged to his father. They were a bit short, but he was pleased to see that he filled the shoulders without threatening to burst any seams.

Taking the small silver frame from the top of the bookcase, Neville looked down at his parents. They were dressed more casually, wearing Muggle trainers under their government issue Auror robes. They were smiling like they had the whole world in front of them, arms gripping tightly around each other’s waists.

“It’s not really risky,” Neville said, “Not like anything you will have done. But you were young and reckless once. I think it’s going to be a really good night.”

It was already getting dark when he apparated to Dean’s flat. The gathering was small, just Luna and the group from the Burrow. Some were wearing traditional robes like Neville, while others had silly fake beards and green skin.

“Wow. Who’s this handsome stranger?” Ginny winked at him. Her beer bottle was nearly empty, and she was wearing striped stockings under her short black skirt.

“Um, thanks. You look nice too.” Glancing around, he noticed that both Harry and Ron were sporting large white beards. Neville was suddenly self-conscious in his well-cut robes.

Seamus suddenly appeared from the kitchen with a large bottle of firewhiskey. “Neville, my man! You’ve got some catching up to do.” He shoved the bottle into Neville’s arms, antlers slipping over one eye. “Okay, people, have we decided on a destination?”

Several people shouted “club,” and Seamus grinned. “Excellent! Neon it is. Hope you all wore your arse-shaking boots.”

Neville understood about half of Seamus’s words, but as he took a fourth pull from the bottle, he stopped caring. Once everyone had gotten their cloaks and gathered their belongings, they made their way downstairs and into the foreboding jungle of Muggle London.

A cold wind blew fiercely between the tall buildings, making the scantily dressed girls huddle against their beaus. Groups of people in costumes wandered the streets, some of them obviously intoxicated. A woman in a red dress and horns asked what they were supposed to be, and Seamus smiled like an excited kid.

“We’re wizards!” he said, leaning on Luna for balance. “Watch out, or I’ll turn you into a toad.”

The woman laughed. “And what kind of wizard is part deer?”

“A druid, trained in the ancient language of the land and dedicated to the seven paths of wisdom.” With his overdramatic tone of voice, he could just as easily be conveying his family’s deep magical secrets as talking straight out of his behind. The thought that the woman wouldn’t tell the difference, and of what might happen if she did, made Neville shudder with excitement.

Neon turned out to be noisy, crowded dance club about two miles from the Leaky Cauldron. Hermione had given them identification cards before they left, but Neville’s heart was pounding when he handed the tiny bit of plastic to the guard at the door. But her transfiguration was spotless, and soon they were all inside.

They dropped a protective spell over their cloaks, just enough to give any stranger who touched them a serious static shock. Ginny’s small fingers closed around Neville’s wrist, dragging him onto the dance floor.

“Don’t even think about it, Mr. Wallflower,” she shouted in his ear. The powerful beat began working through Neville’s alcohol-loosened limbs, and he started swaying in place.

There were so many people in the crowd that Neville didn’t feel self-conscious. Luna suddenly appeared in front of him, looking up with bright eyes.

“We have to dance together,” she said, standing on tiptoes to reach his ear. “For luck, you see.”

Neville didn’t see, but her silver robes skimmed her curves and brought the grey out of her eyes. She began to dance, swaying like a strange sea creature with flowing fins, and Neville was content just to watch her.

Suddenly Seamus was there, winding his hands around her waist. He whispered something in Luna’s ear, and she smiled before stepping aside and letting Seamus move closer to Neville.

“I think you should kiss her,” he said, so close that his breath warmed Neville’s face.

“What?” He pulled back, but Seamus just grinned. “You must be joking. She’s not yours to loan out to your friends when you feel charitable.”

Seamus narrowed his eyes before leaning in again. “You’re doing her a disservice, mate. Who said it was my idea?”

Neville was speechless. Seamus disappeared and Luna was in front of him again, her eyes big enough to drown in. When she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down, he didn’t fight it.

Neville didn’t have an enormous amount of experience, but nothing could have prepared him for the weight of Luna in his arms, the softness of her skin, the faint taste of firewhiskey in her mouth. An army of dementors could have swarmed the club and he wouldn’t have noticed. He was so lost in the feel of her that tearing himself away felt like drowning.

“Luna, are you sure?” He couldn’t ruin her relationship, not after everything he’d given up to support it, but Seamus was still standing right there. His lips were parted, and his eyes kept wandering down to Neville’s hands at her waist.

Luna’s idea or not, Seamus was lying when he said he didn’t like other people touching her.

“Come back with us,” Luna said, gripping his shoulders to hold herself up. “Please, Neville.”

All the times he’d imagined this happening, he never thought it would actually occur. Seamus’s approval was a little unsettling, but whenever Luna’s hands were on him, Neville forgot to worry about it. Even if it was just one night, even if it was just sex, it was more than he’d ever hoped for. He bent down and kissed her again, not daring to speak his answer.

Outside, the night had gotten colder. Luna tucked herself inside Neville’s cloak, her head barely reaching his shoulder. He occasionally felt Seamus bump into her from the other side, although he wasn’t touching her. It occurred to Neville that Seamus’s presence was a constant reminder that this was allowed, that his indulgence wasn’t going to ruin his friends’ lives. The least Neville could do was give him a good show.

Nobody spoke until they were in the flat. Luna and Neville were tugging at each other’s clothes as they kissed, making their way clumsily to the rear bedroom. Luna had him pinned against the wall, his robes half undone and her soft hands exploring his chest, when Seamus broke the spell.

“Are you gonna let him fuck you, darlin’?”

His voice was deep and rough, and Neville’s cock twitched as much from the sound of it as from the words. Luna glanced over to where Seamus was standing, and Neville wondered just how much of their silent communication he was missing. Then her eyes were on him again, drowning it all out.

“I want to make you come. I’ve wanted to for quite a while. Is that all right?” He managed a stiff nod before Luna pulled his robes down in a puddle around his feet and dragged him toward the bed. While Neville fussed with her buttons, Seamus yanked his own robes off and dropped into a chair in the corner.

Luna pushed Neville backwards onto the bed. He had a brief moment of panic, excruciatingly aware of the soft flesh that gave under her fingers when she touched him. Then she nudged his knees apart and sank to the floor.

“What are you…oh!” She took him in her mouth, and it was the most electric feeling in the world. He never would have thought that Luna knew how to do this, and she looked so wanton there on her knees that he had to shut his eyes.

“Oh, that’s my girl. You like that, don’t you, darlin’?”

Seamus had his cock out, rubbing in a slow, lazy rhythm. He sprawled in the chair like a big cat, legs spread wide and eyes watchful. His gaze seemed to catch everything, and Neville’s nakedness became a little thrilling because he couldn’t do anything about it. He was starting to understand Luna’s perspective.

“Fuck, he’s big. Is it making you wet, love?”

Luna hummed in affirmation, looking up at Neville. “Touch yourself, then, yeah? Show him how much you like it.”

She squirmed a little to get a hand between her legs. Neville bit down on his knuckles and groaned. He was going to come in two minutes like a fourth year, leaving the others frustrated and ending the night much too soon.

Thankfully, Luna popped off right then. “Don’t,” she said, petting the inside of his thigh with her free hand. “I can’t see your face. I want to hear all the noises you make.”

“Right. Sorry.” His face burned. After years of fumbling under the covers, making noise felt strange. But the eyes on him made the whole thing strange, like Neville was an actor in a tableau rather than a lover in a dark bedroom. Luna’s fingers wandered lower, and Neville’s moan rang in the room like a crash of thunder. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Seamus shift and speed up the movement of his hand.

Frighteningly observant, Seamus caught the tightening in Neville’s body almost before Neville did. “Watch it,” he warned, tilting his head to get a better look.

Luna pulled back, her breathing harsh and spit smeared all over her face. “It’s all right, Seamus.” She looked up at Neville, and he felt completely at her mercy despite their positions. “I want you to come in my mouth. I’ve been practicing.”

It was Seamus’s groan that filled the room then, a rough, desperate sound. “Christ, woman, you’re gonna kill me.”

Neville chuckled a little, and Seamus looked up at him. “Go ahead, love. Swallow him down. Make him scream.”

His eyes met Neville’s just as he hit the back of Luna’s throat. Neville jumped like he’d been shocked, and as he stammered out an apology, he didn’t miss the gasp from across the room. Her tongue slid along the underside and suddenly Neville was coming, jerking into her mouth and crying out like he’d just been stabbed.

Seamus didn’t look away.

Luna pulled off, and her little gag as she fought to get it all down her throat was soothed by her brilliant smile as she leaned her pink, sweaty face against Neville’s knee.

“Beautiful,” she murmured, running a soothing hand up and down his leg. “Oh, you’re so beautiful when you come.”

His brain tried to form the words to offer reciprocation, but Seamus got there first. He pulled her to her feet and kissed her roughly, falling back onto the bed with Luna on top of him. Neville could hear the wet sounds of their kissing, the little sighs and groans they lost in each other’s mouths. He realized that Seamus could probably taste him, that his spunk was in the mouth of the boy who woke him up from a nightmare in first year and promised not to tell anyone he’d been crying. Neville laid back and closed his eyes.

“Oh fuck, you’re so wet for him.” His voice was so soft that Neville almost didn’t catch the words. “That’s it, _a ghra._ Come for me.”

Luna gasped. The bed stopped shaking. Before they came down from the aftershock, Neville was asleep.

 

_November_

 

Dean’s fire escape was cold in the mornings, sheltered from the sun by the sharply slanted roof. Even in an oversized sweatshirt, Seamus’s hands were shaking. He told himself it was penance for blackening his lungs, although he really just dreaded going back inside.

There was a knock behind him, and when he looked back, the window was open. “I really wish you wouldn’t smoke those things. It makes you taste horrible in every way possible.”

He inched to the side so Luna could crawl out onto the fire escape. She pushed the window shut behind her, tucking the blanket from the sofa under her bare feet. Leaning against her warm body took the edge off the chill.

“I know what it means, Seamus.”

He blew a trail of smoke into the air in front of him. “You know what what means?”

“ _A ghra._ I know what it means and I know why you said it.”

His chest tightened, but he ignored it. “Care to enlighten me?”

She stared out across the alley, brows furrowed in concentration. “You call everyone ‘love,’ so it doesn’t mean anything anymore. But it’s more than that. The wizards of Ireland kept speaking it when the Muggles had almost forgotten, because they needed a language to hold their secrets. That’s how your mother learned it, and how she taught you to use it. For secrets.”

He ducked his head to scratch the back of his neck. “Bloody Ravenclaws.” She heard the affection in his voice, and reached out from under the blanket to wind her arm through his. “You’ve done your research, at least. I learned Irish from me da. That’s how Mam fell in love with him—he told her all sorts of pretty things he’d never say in plain English.”

“Your father doesn’t say much in plain English, does he?”

Without more than five words from Seamus on the subject (usually “let’s not talk about it”), Luna had seen straight to the heart of the matter. He turned and pressed his lips against her hair, fighting the sting in his eyes. It was so stupid, all of it, but knowing didn’t make it any easier to let go.

“Seamus, I didn’t say it because I thought the words weren’t important. If I’d known…”

“Shush.” He pulled one end of the blanket free and wrapped it around his shoulders, forcing Luna to snuggle right against him to stay covered. “I heard you, _a ghra mo chroi._ You didn’t say it, but I heard you.”

She buried her face in his shoulder and took a deep, shuddering breath.

“Is Neville the love of your heart, too?”

His fingers tightened in the back of her shirt. Trust Luna, mad lovely brilliant Luna, to see the things hiding in the darkest corners of Seamus’s heart and bring them into the light. He had no secrets from her, he realized, just observations she’d decided not to bring up. The thought of such emotional nakedness made his hands shake, but after everything they’d been through, trusting her with everything was surprisingly easy.

“Don’t think it matters much, now that we’ve scared him off.”

They were quiet for a moment, huddling close against the wind. He was grateful that she didn’t contradict him, because Luna tended to see the best in people. Neville was a good man, a patient man, but you could only push a person so far.

“We should talk to him,” she said. “He might not know. Maybe he thinks we were just toying with him.”

“Oh, he definitely doesn’t know. I’m not sure I knew twenty minutes ago.”

“And now that you do, you don’t know how you went so long without it.”

Seamus tugged her awkwardly into his lap and kissed her. He felt closer to whole than he had since the war. But he did miss Neville, like a punch to the gut, and the thought of losing him over a stupid drunken fuck was unbearable.

“I’ll talk to him,” he whispered, breaking the kiss. “In a day or two. I’ll make it right again, promise.”

“You can’t promise, it’s not up to you. But I think he’ll come around.” Her eyes were bright, and she shifted around so she could straddle his legs. When she kissed him again, it tasted like second chances.

—

The permanent ward at St. Mungo’s was always too hot. Neville had brought a sketchbook, but the quill kept slipping out of his sweaty fingers, leaving sharp streaks through the plants he was trying to draw from memory. He could have easily talked as he worked, but today he needed the quiet scratch of the quill and the gentle creak of the Swaying Vibranthium on the windowsill.

There was a soft knock on the door, and all three of them looked up as the nurse peered in. “Sir, there are visitors here for Mr. and Mrs. Longbottom. Should I send them in?”

“Um, that’s fine. Go ahead.” He didn’t know who would be calling at this hour, and he was steeling himself for a confrontation with another hero-hunter when two blond heads appeared in the doorway.

Neville set his book down and walked to the door, whispering so as not to upset his parents. “What on earth are you two doing here?”

Seamus blushed and wouldn’t meet his eyes. “See, Luna, I told you we’d be intruding. I’m sorry, Neville. I tried to talk her out of it.”

“Hush, Seamus. Are you really cross, Neville, or just surprised? We can leave if you want us to.”

The expression on Luna’s face, warm and concerned but lacking anything like pity, convinced Neville to open the door and gesture them inside. “I’m afraid nothing much happens here, but they shouldn’t do anything to frighten you. Just keep your hair tied back, Luna. Dad likes blond hair, and he might try to pull it.”

Seamus grinned at the figure on the bed. “Man after me own heart.” He reached inside his pocket and pulled out a large chocolate bar. “Luna remembered you saying they like sweets. Can we give it to them?”

“Yeah, absolutely.” He was sure he’d only mentioned that once, at least two years ago. “Dad might not eat all of his. Just give the extra to Mum, she loves chocolate.”

They each perched on a bed. Before long, his father was playing with the silver cross around Seamus’s neck and Luna was folding the chocolate wrapper into little paper birds. Neville sat and watched, his sketches forgotten, and wondered how something so precious could hurt so much.

After a while, Seamus tugged himself away and slipped out the door. Neville followed, trusting that Luna could handle herself. He found Seamus in the stairwell, flicking his cigarette lighter on and off.

Neville lowered himself onto the step beside him. “It’s okay, you know. It’s hard for most people. I won’t be hurt if it’s too upsetting for you.”

Seamus chuckled dryly. “I’d spend all afternoon with your parents, Neville. They’re great.” On, off. “It’s not them, it’s…fuck, Neville, you look haunted. It hurts you to be in there, and I just can’t watch it.”

Seamus stared at the flame in his hands. He was the toughest of them, the most likely to fight and the least likely to worry, but in a strange way he was also the softest. He’d cried for nearly an hour when his mother died, shuddering in great choking sobs until he couldn’t breathe and gripping Neville’s arm hard enough to bruise. It made sense that he had gone to Luna that night, raw as he was. But as Neville watched the slight tremble of his lip, the shaking fingers that he masked with the flick of the lighter, he realized that Seamus’s softness and hardness were two sides of the same coin, and that he was constantly flipping it to avoid landing on one side or the other.

“I used to think it made me weak,” Neville said, “Because it made me feel stupid and ashamed and angry and sad. It made me worry what other people thought, worry that they’d find out and think I was pathetic. Then I realized that without that pain, without that fear, what reason would I have to do the stupid, amazing things I’ve done?”

Seamus smirked. On, off.

“I’ve spoken to me da exactly four times since Mam died. He never gets properly angry, he just stands there and gnashes his teeth until he blows up over some stupid shite like not refilling the petrol. Then he tells me she’d be ashamed of me, I tell him I wish he’d died instead, and I storm out to get pissed and sleep on a mate’s floor.”

Neville couldn’t imagine speaking to his gran that way, but an awful part of him knew why Seamus would want to. “I’m sure it’ll get easier with time. You’re all he has left of her.”

“That’s just it, though. I look like her, I talk like her, I fight like her. I hope to God I don’t fuck like her, but it honestly wouldn’t surprise me.”

They both laughed. Neville had spent enough time doing damage control from Seamus Jokes Gone Wrong, but he’d always admired his friend’s ability to make something funny out of the most painful circumstances.

“We do what we have to do, Seamus. At the end of the day, as long as we’re alive and kicking, everything else can go...”

Seamus raised an eyebrow. Neville held the unintended stammer for dramatic effect, giggling when Seamus leaned forward in anticipation.

“…fuck itself,” he whispered, feeling like he was thirteen and trading dirty jokes in the dormitory.

“Oh, yeah. Talk dirty to me, snake mauler.”

Neville started laughing again. “‘Snake mauler’? Do you write pulp novels in your spare time?”

“Would you rather I dragged out the Sword of Gryffindor puns? Because I’ve no shortage of those, my lad.” Seamus lit up the room when he smiled, and it made Neville want to stay there, hiding from the real world.

“Fuck,” he said, more confident this time. He liked the way the word fit in his mouth, and judging by Seamus’s filthy grin, he did too.

“Fuuuck.” The word sounded obscene in Seamus’s smoked-out voice, and Neville suddenly flushed hot. He looked away, and while the moment was broken, Seamus didn’t tease him about it. His hand was warm and dry when Neville helped him stand.

“Hey, listen.” Seamus jammed his hands in his jacket pockets and stared down at his trainers. “I never meant you to think we were just playing you. You’re important, Neville. It wouldn’t have happened if you weren’t.”

Even after all the accolades and fan mail and blushing girls at Ministry dinners, Neville didn’t usually feel important. But under Seamus’s bright blue eyes, he felt like something much more significant.

“Don’t worry about it. It was nice to feel wanted.”

Seamus bit his lip, but he didn’t press the subject. They returned to find Luna in the middle of a story about the rabbits in her garden, Neville’s mother slowly stroking her leg. A flock of paper birds circled overhead.

“Oh, you’re back. I was just complaining about the peanut radishes. They’re having such an awful time coming up this year.”

“Get any good pointers?” Neville asked, Seamus’s dark sense of humor rubbing off on him. Luna didn’t laugh, and he suddenly felt his stomach sinking, like when well-meaning adults told him that some part of his parents still knew and loved him.

“Of course not, they can’t talk. But it’s all right, because I needed someone to listen.”

The three of them walked out together, huddling from the rain under a bus shelter. After a few minutes of silence, Luna’s arms slipped around Neville’s waist.

“I think you’re very brave,” she murmured, leaning her head on his shoulder. “I think you’re brave and kind and strong, and I think your parents would be enormously proud of you.”

Blinking back tears, Neville stroked the hair back from Luna’s face.

“Thank you,” he choked. “You didn’t have to come here. You have no idea how much that means to me.”

Thick, callused fingers slipped through his. Seamus squeezed, and Neville didn’t have to look to see the tears threatening to come out.

 

_December_

 

Curry was Luna’s favorite part of Muggle life. There was nothing nicer than tucking into a steaming plate of saag paneer on a cold winter night, takeaway boxes littering the trunk they used as a coffee table and a warm boy crammed onto the sofa on either side of her. On those nights, it really felt like being part of a family.

They’d finished eating and settled in to watch a film on their doctored video player when the doorbell rang. Dean stood up with a groan, walking over and pulling back the curtains.

“Um,” he said, leaning over to see the ground level, “I think one of you should get this.”

Luna followed Seamus down to the front door, where a very haggard Neville was pacing in dress robes and a mismatched cloak. “I don’t know why I’m here,” he said, not breaking his stride. “I don’t know why I’m anywhere near here, actually, given that Gran’s having the Minister over for dinner and half the guests are only there to see me. And my whole life, I’ve dreamed of being the kind of person people were excited to sit next to at a dinner party. Except it’s miserable, and if Hannah hadn’t given me a Nosebleed Nougat, I would’ve set the bloody tablecloth on fire.”

Seamus blinked groggily and ran a hand through his hair. “Well, come up if you want. But you’ve picked a dull night to drop in, mate.”

“No, that’s exactly it.” Neville stopped pacing and gripped him by the shoulders. “It’s not dull. You couldn’t be dull if you tried. I would rather sit with you and watch paint dry, because you’re brilliant and gorgeous and exciting and you make me feel alive again. Both of you, I mean.”

He seemed to realize what he’d said, and he was starting to color when Seamus leaned forward and kissed him. They kissed for a good thirty seconds, loud and sloppy and grasping at each other’s bare skin. Seamus was always an aggressive kisser, biting and sucking and scratching like a rowdy kitten, but Luna had never actually _seen_ it. She felt a pulse between her legs, and she wondered with a little shiver if he was going to draw blood.

“I think we should go upstairs,” she managed, leaning against the wall so her knees didn’t give out.

They broke apart, and Seamus glanced back at her with a smirk, his lips wet and swollen. “All right.” He took a step back and pulled his jumper over his head, revealing a pale stomach and narrow hipbones dusted with freckles. “But if we’re gonna do this proper, sober and with curry breath and shit, you’re not taking off again. You have a place with us, but you’re either there or you’re not. Understood?”

He talked like the commander he once was, but his eyes were too bright. Luckily, Neville understood the seriousness of the request and gave a tight nod.

“Good. Don’t want Luna to suffer that again.” Luna didn’t need the protection, of course, but if Seamus wanted to keep his need for affirmation a secret, that was his business. It would come out soon enough.

In a split second, the naked gratitude on his face turned into a wolfish grin. He stepped closer and stuck a hand inside Neville’s cloak. “Now, you’re not gonna get all squeamish about my unspeakable Muggle vices, are you, lad?”

Neville swallowed hard, his face going even darker. Luna bit her lip when she realized it was the talk making him hot. Oh, this would be _fun._

“I think the time for squeamish passed when you watched me get my knob sucked.”

Seamus must not have expected that, because his eyes went wide and he let out a pleased little growl.

“Oh, but there’s a world of difference between looking at and sitting on.” He stood on his toes to give a playful bite to Neville’s lower lip, then turned and started up the stairs. “I’ve already seen your cock, Longbottom. Don’t disappoint me.”

“ _What?_ ” Neville gawked in the doorway, his hair and clothes in total disarray. Luna grabbed his hand, tracing the lines of his broad palm.

“He means well. And you do have a very nice penis.” She leaned in until her lips hovered next to Neville’s, close enough to feel his breath. “Just relax. Doesn’t this make everything easier?”

His hands gripped her waist, big enough for his fingers to nearly meet. Luna could imagine them holding her wrists, pulling her hair, shoved to the knuckle inside of her. Better yet, inside Seamus. She gasped, inhaling the faint scent of wine on Neville’s breath.

“Gran would say I was mad.” She could feel his lips against hers, and she had to dig her fingers into his arms to keep from kissing him senseless. “Wizards don’t do this sort of thing.”

Luna smiled, knowing he would feel it. “So be mad. It’s much more fun.”  


**Author's Note:**

> Written in March 2013 for the first exchange at [](http://hp-3somes.livejournal.com/profile)[**hp_3somes**](http://hp-3somes.livejournal.com/). Many thanks to [](http://tamlane.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://tamlane.livejournal.com/)**tamlane** for the marvelous beta job.


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